


Defender of the Weak

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape, Child Abuse, F/M, Killian is NOT a rapist, Missing Scenes, Prostitution, but there is hope at the end, but yeah this is dark, slave boy Killian, so tired of haters saying that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: "One day, when you're strong, never forget what it was like to be at the mercy of another." It's advice that Killian Jones never forgets, no matter how old he gets. So, I saw another hater railing about Hook and rape culture, and it ticked me off. I mean, really? Now that we know his past and how much choice means to Killian, we're still saying that? So I wrote this.I know the tags are heavy, but this is rated T for themes only. Not for graphic descriptions. Still, it could be a trigger for some.





	

**Age 8**

              Every muscle in Killian’s small body ached as he climbed into the narrow bunk. His stomach clenched with the pangs of hunger, but the pain in his heart was worse. _Papa_ , he whispered, not wanting Liam to hear and think him weak. He rolled towards the wall, tears squeezing between his eyelids. He didn’t want Liam to know about those, either. Mercifully, the fatigue of his body won out over the agony of his heart, and sleep claimed him.

              Killian was pulled from the sweet oblivion of a deep sleep by a meaty hand grasping him by the back of the neck. He tried to open his eyes, but his face was being pressed into his thin pillow. He realized with panic that he couldn’t breathe either and started to thrash against the arm that held him.

              “Be still ‘ya lil’ bugger,” a gruff voice hissed in Killian’s ear, but when whoever it was began yanking at his underclothes, Killian started thrashing more wildly.

              “Get off him!”

              Liam’s voice was so wild with terror, Killian almost didn’t recognize it. The man let go of Killian’s clothes so he could swat at Liam, who had jumped on the large brute’s back. Liam tore at the man with his fingernails like an enraged feline, and the man was forced to relinquish his hold on Killian completely. As soon as he was free, Killian rolled over and scrambled to the corner of the bed and curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. Liam kept yelling for him to run, but Killian was petrified with shock and fear. He took gasping breaths, trembling all over. Besides, where could he go? They were at sea.

              The man finally got a firm grasp on Liam and flung the twelve year old to the floor with a loud crash. He then turned towards Killian with a lecherous sneer, and Killian covered his head and screamed. The door flung open and an angry voice cut through the din.

              “What the bloody hell is goin’ on!” the Captain barked.

Killian stilled and Liam scrambled to his feet, relief on his face. But the Captain merely took in the scene before him with a shrug.

“Shove a rag in the brat’s mouth so he doesn’t beller s’much. I’m tryin’ ta sleep.”

That was all the captain said before leaving the room and slamming the door with finality. The sailor leered at both boys. The man advanced on the bed as Killian scrambled further into the corner, practically crawling at the walls. Liam threw himself at the beast again, with a shout of _No!_ , but he was easily flung aside by the back of one gnarled hand. The man loomed over Killian’s trembling form, and the little boy did the only thing he knew to do: he squeezed his eyes tight against the terror before him. The man’s hands roughly grasped his slim shoulders, and then –

The grimy hands were being yanked from him, and a calm, steely voice cut through the tension in the room.

“I’ll slit yer throat, I will.”

Killian’s eyes flew open to see another sailor holding a dagger to the man’s throat. By the feeble light of the lamp swaying in the corner, Killian recognized the sailor with the dagger as the one who had taught him the different types of knots earlier that day: Starkey. The man who had attacked Killian raised his hands in surrender.

“S’fine, s’fine” he stuttered nervously, “wasn’t gonna hurt the lad.”

Starkey pressed the dagger harder, and the man hissed. “I know watcha were plannin’, _mate_. An iffen ya try an’ touch the boy again, ya’ be answerin’ to me.”

With that, the man staggered sheepishly from the room. Starkey let out a shaky breath, then helped Liam up from the floor. He handed the dagger in his hand by the hilt to Killian.

“Never go to sleep without this under yer pillow, son.” Starkey then reached into his boot, pulled out another dagger, and handed it to Liam. “They’ll be goin’ after the little one with the pretty face, but ya got to be his protector. Ya hear me, boy?”

Liam took the dagger and nodded gravely.

“I’ll teach ya both to use ‘em on the morrow,” he told the boys wearily as he turned for the door.

“What about tonight?” Liam asked with a slight waver to his voice.

Starkey looked the two boys over with a sad expression in his eyes. “Not to worry, tonight I be right outside the door.”

The next day, as promised, Starkey taught the boys to use their daggers. And every day after. He put both Liam and Killian through every possible scenario in which they might have to use them. The worst was when he pinned Killian down onto a pile of sandbags just as the other sailor had done that first horrible night. Starkey told him how sorry he was to have to do it, but Killian had to know what to do the next time. He taught him how to get to his dagger, and if he couldn’t, how to bite, scratch, and kick for all he was worth. During one lesson, Killian sent Starkey to his knees, clutching his privates. Killian rushed to his side to help him up, apologizing profusely.

“No, my lad,” Starkey chuckled through grunts of pain, “I’m proud of ya, I am. Yer a right spitfire, and I pity anyone who riles ya.”

“You mean I don’t have to worry anymore about someone trying to hurt me?”

Starkey frowned as he looked down into Killian’s innocent, freckled face. “I wish that were so, Killian. Unfortunately, there are always the strong who prey on the weak.” Starkey looked wearily out to sea, passing a trembling hand over his face. “It was a lesson I learned the hard way, when I was no bigger’n you. No one was there to come to my aid.”

Killian puffed out his chest, “Well, one day _I’ll_ be the strong one. _Then_ I’ll show them.”

Starkey bent down to Killian’s level and placed both of his calloused hands on the boy’s thin shoulders “I’ve no doubt ye will be, son, but hear me. The temptation is to get back at the world, to prove yer n’longer the weak one. But true strength defends the helpless. One day, when yer strong, never forget what it felt to be at the mercy of another.”

Killian nodded his head, his eyes locked on those of the sailor. And though Starkey may have doubted Killian’s ability to fully comprehend his message, it sank deep in the boy’s heart nonetheless. And Killian Jones never forgot it.

**Age 22**

Milah tried to stay away from the pirate, truly she did, but the more time she spent with him, the more she craved to see him. It wasn’t just his good looks or the stories of his exciting adventures. There was something about Killian Jones that was different from most of the other men in the tavern, or the village for that matter. The most significant difference being that he seemed to see Milah as his equal.

So here she was again, sitting next to him as he taught her how to cheat with dice and get away with it. Honestly, she was sitting as close as she could get without sitting in his lap. Plenty of other women in the tavern had deposited themselves in mens’ laps, but Milah wasn’t that bold. She watched as a tipsy gentleman grabbed the woman refilling his pint, pulling her into his lap. Killian paused with the dice in his hands, narrowing his eyes at the scene until the woman laughed and planted a kiss on the man’s lips. Only then did he drop the dice, flashing a smile at Milah. That was the other thing, Milah had never seen Killian grab at a woman. Of course, he didn’t really have to, with his good looks and charm, the women readily came to him.

“Can I interest ya in some private entertainment, Cap’n?”

Killian lifted his head to address the man speaking, the bright merriment in his blue eyes darkening at the sight before him. A sick feeling settled in Milah’s own gut. The man had his beefy hand on the narrow shoulder of a trembling young girl. She was pretty, with strawberry blonde hair that fell in waves past her shoulders and sparkling light blue eyes. But she was very young, not even able to fill out her bodice, though the corset laces seemed to be tied as tightly as possible.   

Killian leaned back on the bench and lounged against the wall. Milah had come to recognize it as the cocky air he assumed when bartering, whether it be passage on his ship or a job requiring his piracy skills.

“Private entertainment?” Killian asked casually. “The lass doesn’t look old enough to know what she’s doing.”

Milah’s heart sank at Killian’s crass words. Surely he had an angle in this little exchange. She thought she knew him better than to entertain this sort of thing.

“Oh, she’s old enough, I assure you,” the man insisted, pushing the girl closer to the table as if showing off merchandise. “A virgin though, untainted. Only the best for the famous Captain Jones.”

If Killian was as disgusted as Milah, he certainly didn’t show it. He looked the girl up and down, rubbing his chin. “How much?”

Milah felt the color drain from her face and blood rush in her ears at Killian’s reply. She didn’t even hear the man’s price.

Killian shook his head even as he tossed a few coins on the table. “This is all I’ll pay. She doesn’t even fill out her dress.”

Milah could hardly breathe as the man took the money and placed the girl’s hand in Killian’s. Tears swam in her vision as Killian rose and offered the girl his arm in an overdramatic, sickening display of false gallantry. Milah’s hands clenched into fists, and she felt the desire to punch every man in the place as Killian guided the girl – the child! – upstairs. She got up and took shaky steps towards the door, mortified at what she had just seen. Apparently she was wrong, Killian Jones was no different than any other man.

But Milah couldn’t bring herself to walk out the door. Not with that poor girl upstairs. So she turned and marched up the stairs after Killian. He would see just how much his equal she was when she yanked that girl right out of there!

Milah hesitated when she reached Killian’s room. She could hear the girl crying softly on the other side. Then she was surprised at the sound of Killian’s voice; gentler than she’d ever heard it.

“I’m not going to hurt you child.”

Milah opened the door a crack. Neither the girl nor Killian noticed. Killian stood by the bed, gathering things into a bundle. The girl cowered in the corner.

Killian tied the bundle and stepped away from the bed, towards the window. “See?” he told the girl. “I’m not going to touch you at all. The bundle is for you.”

The girl rose from the corner and made her way tentatively to the bed. She touched the bundle and peered in, as if it may bite. “Food?”

“Aye,” Killian said, making his way slowly across the room. Milah’s hand gripped the doorknob, ready to burst in if Killian tried to make a move. Instead, he held out a small purse of coins. When the girl hesitated he shook it. “Go on, take it.”

“What do I have to do for the extra money?” the girl asked in a terrified voice.

Killian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s not it. This is for your escape. There’s a livery down the street. The owner’s daughter is a friend of mine. This will be enough to rent a horse.”

Tears welled in the girls eyes as she took the purse. “Thank you.”

Killian took a cloak from a hook on the wall and draped it over the girl. He pulled the hood up over her rosy curls. “Slip down the back stairs. Keep the hood up. Once you get the horse, ride as hard as you can due east. Stay due east. At first light, there should be a cottage at the base of the ridge. It’s the home of an older gentleman- name’s Starkey. He and his wife Brittola will take care of you.”

The girl nodded and smiled, though her hands still shook. She turned and fled out the door, gasping when she almost collided with Milah, her eyes wide with fear.

“Go!” Milah admonished her with an encouraging smile, and the girl hurried down the back stairs.

Milah turned in the doorway, heart swelling as she watched Killian sink wearily into a chair by the fireplace. How could she have misjudged him after all the time they had spent together the last few weeks?

“What are you doing here, Milah?” he asked without taking his eyes from the cold embers on the hearth. “You’ll ruin the girl’s cover.”

“I thought. . . “

Killian looked at her with anguished eyes, “Then you don’t know me at all, love.”

Milah stood there, fidgeting with her hands, feeling ashamed, “You’re right. I should have known better.”

Killian ran a shaking hand over his face. “12 years old. She’s only twelve years old. If that bastard had gone to anyone else first . . . “ Killian clenched his jaw and both fists. Somehow, this was personal for him, and Milah didn’t quite know what to say.

“Go Milah,” he finally said, softly and sternly. “Please. Just go.”

Milah turned around, but then hesitated a moment in the doorway. She turned around, her heart swelling as she gazed at his handsome, tortured face.

“Before I go, that offer to see the world? Does it still stand?”

Killian finally smiled. “We set sail on the morrow.”

**Age 31**

Killian spun, Hook at the ready as someone or something came crashing through the jungle foliage to his right. He took cover behind a thick tree and waited. Pan’s crew were breaking in a new lost boy, most likely. Killian was shocked when it was a girl, not a boy, who stumbled into the small clearing near his hiding place. Her blonde curls were a matted mess filled with bits of leaves and bracken, and her white gown was tattered and stained. As she scrambled to her feet, the moonlight hit her face, and Killian could make out the sheen of tears.

Killian was so distracted by this strange turn of events, he didn’t even hear the lost boys coming. They had the girl surrounded before Killian could get a bearing on the situation. The girl spun in a circle, frantically searching for an opening of escape, chest heaving in panic.

Félix stalked towards her, smacking his club repeatedly into his open palm. A phantom pain throbbed where Killian’s hand used to be as the urge to pummel Félix with both fists surged through him.

“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”

“Please,” the girl begged, “just leave me alone.”

What happened next was a blur of white hot rage. The boys advanced, Wendy was on the ground screaming, and Killian was suddenly in their midst, flinging lost boys right and left. Félix had Wendy on the ground by the throat, and Killian turned on him next.

“Run!” Killian yelled, but Wendy simply stared at him with wide eyes, trembling as she curled herself into a ball. An image of an eight year old boy, cowering in the corner of his bunk, swam up in Killian’s memory.

Félix stalked towards him, the rest of the lost boys regrouping at his back. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Captain?”

That was all it took to send Killian over the edge. He swung with his hook, slicing down the side of Félix’s face. The young teen howled in pain, and stumbled backwards, blood gushing from his wood. The other lost boys faltered as Félix stumbled to the ground, then turned and fled. Wendy had backed herself against a tree, still cowering in fear. Growling in frustration, Killian hauled her to her feet and commanded her to run. When she made no move to obey, he plunged into the jungle, hauling her along with him.

A few moments later, Wendy came to herself and began struggling in his grasp. “Let me go!”

He stopped, turned, and snapped at her in frustration, “I’m trying to help you!” He gave her a small shake, but stopped when he saw the terror in her eyes. He looked down at his hook, still dripping with Félix’s blood. He suddenly realized what he must look like to her. Trembling slightly, he dropped her arm and stepped away from her. He pointed towards a faint trail to his left. “There’s a fairy who travels between here and the Enchanted Forest collecting pixie dust. Her tree house is that way. It’s hidden from the lost boys. You’ll be safe there.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes. “You’re . . . saving me?”

The sound of lost boys echoed through the jungle. “Weeeendyyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! We only want to play!”

Killian gestured with his hook, “Go!”

Once Wendy was heading for the tree house, Killian took off in the opposite direction, crying, “Wendy! Run!”

He could hear the lost boys behind him, following him far away from the little lost girl.

**Age 233**

When Wendy makes her way into the clearing at the edge of the path to Tink’s tree house, Killian has to suppress the urge to shake her. Two centuries on the island, and the girl still clomps too loudly amidst the trees.

“Bloody hell, Wendy, you’ll get captured by Pan again making all that racket!”

Wendy ignores his admonition and crosses her arms across her chest. “Is it true? Are you really leaving?”

“Aye, lass, I have to, I . . .” he trails off as he realizes how little his reasons will make sense to an 11 year old girl.

“But . . . “ Wendy doesn’t finish her sentence either, but the way she bites her lip gives her away.

“You’ll be fine, lass, I assure you. Tink promised me she’d look after you. Just . . . do what you’re told for once.”

“What do you mean?” Wendy hedges, scuffing her toe in the dirt.

“I mean, stay near the tree house.”

“But the little ones, when they cry –“

Killian raises his hook in the air to silence her, “No, Wendy, not even for the wee ones. I know you fancy yourself their mother, but I and my crew will no longer be here to rescue you.” He’d lost half his crew rescuing her from the echo caves, and he’d been the one to utter the final secret to dissolve her cage. She had thrown her skinny arms around his neck and promised his secret was safe with her. No one but Wendy Darling would ever know Captain Hook was a lost boy, too.

He started to worry seriously about leaving her unprotected, and it didn’t help when she threw her arms around his waist. Killian held his arms out awkwardly, finally patting her on the top of her head.

“Oh, Hook,” she gushed, “I’ll miss you so much!”

She leaned back and looked up at him with a grin. “Tink’s right, you know. You’re a horrible villain.”

Killian released her and stepped back, nervously scratching behind his ear. “Only in Neverland, lass. If you saw me elsewhere, you’d be sorely disappointed.”

Wendy smiles at him as she backs towards the path to the tree house, “I guess we’ll see, Hook.” Then she turns and runs down the path.

Killian watches her go, and his heart constricts in his chest. He thinks of Milah and the crocodile to steal his resolve. Tink will take care of her. Besides, when did she ever become his responsibility?

The eight year old boy in him knows the answer to that, but he stubbornly ignores the slave boy’s voice.

**Age 234**

Two of Killian’s men stumble up the gangplank of the Jolly Roger, and Killian scowls at the load they bear between them. A drunk woman. So drunk, she can barely stand. Killian stomps across the deck towards the two braggarts.

“What have you got here, men?” he asks, crossing his arms and arching a brow.

“Just bringin’ somethin’ back from the tavern, Cap’n,” explains the first, as he shifts the woman’s dead weight on his shoulder, “you know, to have a little fun?”

The men all cat call and hoot, and the two men on either side of the woman raise their eyebrows at one another in silent gloating. Killian’s gut clenches as the woman’s head lolls.

“She’s barely conscious,” Killian observes with a casual air, as if commenting on the weather.

“Aye, Cap’n,” chuckles the second pirate.

“And what is the rule on my ship?” Killian asks darkly, his jaw clenching. The mens’ faces turn instantly pale, and Killian steps forward. Sweeping the woman into his arms and hoisting her over his shoulder, he turns to his men and crows, “To the Captain go the spoils!”

The men all hoot, clap, and pump their fists in the air as Killian makes his way off the ship and back towards the tavern closest to the docks. He forces a cocky chuckle even as bile rises in his throat.

When he enters his tavern of choice, the place is empty, save for the buxom brunette wiping glasses clean behind the bar. She chuckles as she sees Killian with his load. He scowls at her and tosses a few coins her way.

“She’s a pretty thing,” the woman says as Killian shifts his load so he’s cradling the woman instead, “I wouldn’t judge. You know what I see in this place.” At Killian’s glare, she laughs again, “Now don’t go ruining that pretty face with a broken jaw. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Quit giving me grief, Marguerite, and give me the damn key.”

She laughs outright as she slides the key across the bar, calling out after him as he mounts the stairs, “I could charge you extra for my silence, you know. What would people think if they knew the dreaded Captain Hook had a conscience?”

Killian ignored the tavern keeper as he maneuvered the key awkwardly into the lock while managing to keep hold of the woman. When he laid her on the bed, her hair fell across her face and he gingerly pushed it off, trying to touch her as little as possible. She was a bit older than he had originally thought, late twenties perhaps, and he can’t help thinking of Milah. What brought this woman to a seedy tavern filled with pirates on this night? Did she have a husband and children waiting at home? Was she trapped in a loveless arranged marriage like Milah?

He realizes a moment too late that he’s lingered too long when the woman’s eyes fly open wide and she sits suddenly upright. At the sight of his hook, she trembles and scrambles to the far corner of the wall, eyes bright with fear. The sight cuts him to the core, as it always does, and he rises from the bed, lifting his good hand, which holds the room key.

“I’m leaving this with you,” he tells her, slowly putting the key on the nightstand. He backs away from her slowly as he continues speaking, “I’ll lock the door behind me, but I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Once outside the door, he tries to get comfortable leaning against the hard wood. He tries to concentrate on his meeting tomorrow with the Evil Queen, wondering what this test of hers will be. But the woman’s frightened face from a moment ago keeps drifting to the forefront of his mind, then it morphs into Wendy’s dirt-streaked face, then the scared face of a 12 year old slave girl, and then an 8 year old slave boy. Anger rises within him as he thinks of his father. Now that he’s an adult, he knows that his father was far too experienced to be ignorant of what he was subjecting his sons to. The anger and hurt is too painful to dwell upon, so he channels that to the Crocodile instead, choosing to mull over how close he is to his revenge.

**Age 263**

Killian arches his brow and smiles cockily when presenting Cora with his gift. Little does the Queen of Hearts know the inner turmoil inside him. She could never guess the words from so long ago playing on a loop in his head: _One day, when you’re strong, never forget what it felt like to be at the mercy of another._ And yet that’s just what he’s done; taking Aurora’s heart and giving it to Cora. The princess is at the mercy of Cora’s whims, and he’s to blame.

It’s why when he sees Aurora’s heart falling towards the portal, that he reaches backwards without thinking, almost falling in himself.

“I didn’t know you were sentimental,” Emma quips, and he gets the eeriest feeling that she can see right through him.

“I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just don’t like the idea of a woman losing her heart.”

But to protect his reputation, he adds, “Unless it’s over me.”

**Age 268**

Killian scratches nervously behind his ear as he smiles at a pair of teenagers picking up cups of punch in the Storybrooke High School gym. He’s not sure how Snow talked him and Emma into this, but here he is manning a bowl of sugary liquid while sounds that this realm calls “music” thumps around him. Emma has abandoned him to check on a rumor that some kids are drinking beer in the parking lot, and he feels all of his almost 300 years as he watches adolescents dance in a style that looks more like twitching, in his opinion. Henry has kept his distance, begging them not to embarrass him. Killian sighs and prays fervently that Emma returns soon.

Out of the corner of his eye, Killian sees a girl stumbling on those impractical shoes Belle prefers. Two lads – former lost boys – are on either side of her, and a knot forms in Killian’s stomach at the looks on their faces. He’s seen that look before. He leaves his station behind the punch bowl when he sees the boys maneuver the girl out of sight behind the bleachers. As Killian gets closer, he hears the boys talking to each other.

“What did you give her, man?” the first one chuckles. “She can barely stand up.”

“Just get her against the wall, would ya?” says the other one.

The boys words and the sight that meets Killian’s eyes when he ducks under the bleachers makes something snap inside him. The girl is whimpering “please, don’t,” her movements sluggish and her eyes glassy. The boys have her against the wall. One is kissing her neck while the other has his hand up her dress. Killian is on them in only a few strides, tearing them away from the girl and smashing them into the scaffolding of the bleachers.

“Ow, hey! You can’t do that!” protests one of the boys.

“Actually, I can,” Killian growls as he stands over them, his hook aloft. The boys stare in horror at the familiar appendage, and the color drains from their faces when Killian adds, “Didn’t you hear there’s a new deputy in Storybrooke?”

Killian is thankful that he and Emma came prepared in an official police capacity as he pulls handcuffs from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and slaps them on the first boy, cuffing him to the bleachers. The other he holds at bay with his hook to the boy’s throat as he pulls out his cell phone and calls Emma with his good hand.

“Hey, Killian! Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, I’ve got two miscreants here I need to haul down to the station,” Killian pauses and looks over his shoulder at the girl who is huddled against the wall, curled in on herself, “but there’s also a lass here who needs you, Emma.”

Emma is there in only a minute or two, having already returned from patrolling the parking lot. The moment she sees the girl, she rushes to her. “Oh, Grace, sweetheart,” she says gently as she pulls the girl into her arms.

“You know her, Swan?”

Emma nods sadly, “She’s Jefferson’s girl.”

Killian’s jaw clenches as the girl sobs into Emma’s shoulder.

Later that night, Emma returns home from the station to find Killian in the corner of their master bedroom, sitting silently in the rocking chair. Their twin daughters’ bassinettes are before him, his hook resting on Clara’s and his hand on Haley’s. Emma watches from the doorway as Killian gazes pensively at first one baby girl and then the other.

“The boys you arrested are being charged,” Emma says softly as she makes her way silently across the room. “Grace was hesitant to talk at first, but when I told her they will likely do this again, she told me everything.”

Killian clenches his jaw, “In my experience, boys who do those things grow into men who do them.”

Emma sighs, “That’s my experience as well. But be prepared, Killian, they’ll be in the juvenile system. The penalty will be pretty lenient.”

His eyes flash fire, and he doesn’t have to say a word. She knows what he’s thinking. “There’s so much evil in this world Emma,” Killian finally says, leaning over Haley’s bassinette to lightly brush her cheek, “so many who use their power to take advantage of the weak.” He shifts to Clara and touches his hand to her downy, white-blonde fluff. “How do I protect them, Emma? Jefferson couldn’t be there to protect his Grace tonight.”

“But you were there,” Emma is quick to point out, “and both Jefferson and Grace’s adoptive parents are so grateful to you. They told me to tell you that.”

Killian says nothing, and Emma goes to him, sinking to her knees by the rocking chair. She reaches out to cup his cheek to find them wet. “You’re thinking about what happened to you when you were a boy, aren’t you?” Emma’s the only living person who knows that story, something she doesn’t take lightly. He leans into her touch with a broken sigh. “Oh Killian, I wish I had an easy answer,” she whispers. She stands up and sits in his lap, curling against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. Emma strokes Killian’s jaw as she continues to speak, “We raise our daughters to stand up for themselves, we trust our gut, and then . . . we have faith. But we can’t live in fear.”

“Faith in what, Swan?”

Emma takes his face in both her hands and turns him to look her in the eye. “Faith that there’s light as well as darkness. Faith that there are those willing to fight against evil. Like you did tonight.”

Killian tightens his hold on Emma as she burrows into his shoulder again. The minutes pass until her even breathing tells him she’s fallen asleep, but the quiet only lasts for a few moments when Haley awakens, wailing to be fed. Emma groans and chuckles as she gets up sleepily. She scoops up Haley and settles on the bed with her to nurse. Right on cue, Clara starts her half-hearted fussing which changes to bright eyes and coos when her father scoops her up. Killian rocks her and gazes down into the blue eyes that are the same color as his own, and thinks he would not hesitate for one moment to give his very life to keep the innocence he sees in them.

Haley, as usual, falls asleep during her feeding just as Clara starts to fuss in earnest. Even though she’s sleeping, Killian gathers Haley in his arms to rock her as well while Clara eats. He marvels at Haley’s tiny lips pursed in sleep and the tuft of dark hair atop her head. He imagines her feisty green eyes, just like her mother’s when she’s awake. How he wishes the world were a safer place for this little princess he holds in his arms. Emma finishes nursing Clara, and soon both babies are fast asleep again in their bassinettes. Emma curls up in Killian’s lap again so they can watch their daughters sleep, until Emma’s head lolls against Killian’s shoulder. Worried she’ll get a crick in her neck, Killian carries her gently to the bed.

Killian, however, resumes his place in the rocking chair. He watches over his Swan and his two girls for the rest of the night until the first rays of dawn banish the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> * Clara and Haley are my new head cannon for CS baby names. Clara means "light" and Haley means "princess or heroine." Thought it was apt for this particular fic, too.


End file.
